# MADE OF THE DAMAGE [Intro – male, close mic, low agile London voice; dry grain, restrained] Mum hid the electric bill under the fruit bowl every Friday night. Dad never saw the number. I did. [Breath.] I thought getting out meant getting money. Didn't know... money had doors. --- [Verse 1 – young, conversational; clipped, slightly behind beat] I was twelve when I made that vow. Thin walls. Rain on the glass. Dad said, “Son, don't finish up like me. Get your graft in. Get yourself out.” So I did. Cheap shoes. Long days. Head down. First money came through. Bought Mum a coat. She hugged me twice. “That's more than I thought.” [Breath.] I liked being the one who could say, “Don't worry. I've got it.” Back then... that was enough. --- [Pre-Chorus – speech-to-melody; downward scoop] Enough sounds calm... till somebody says, “Bruv, you can do better than that.” [Low ghost] Better... More... --- [Chorus – clean melodic lift; chant-like hook] I kept moving the line, moving the line, telling myself I was buying back time. One more night. One more deal. One more reason not to feel. I said, “Just enough.” [Low shadow] Enough... [Lead] But enough kept moving. --- [Verse 2 – East London cadence; quicker, harder, streetwise] It started small. Quick cash. No boss. No clock. Then the phone stayed busy. “Man, you got a minute?” “Man, can you sort this?” Bare new faces. Same old ends. I wasn't chasing flash. I liked the freedom. Cash in my pocket. Nice coat. Better car. Walked in somewhere... room went quiet. “Mate” became “boss.” Mad, innit? Same face. Different weight. Mum said, “You never come round anymore.” “I'm working.” She looked at me. “I know.” [Dead stop.] Mums always know. --- [Chorus – colder, compressed] Moving the line. Moving the line. New keys. New view. Man telling me, “You've done well.” I liked the respect. Didn't like the part where nobody trusted anybody. “Just enough.” [Low] Still not enough. --- [Verse 3 – FAST East London street-rap; compressed syllables, internal rhyme, controlled menace] Thirty-five. Now the phone don't sleep. Names come through. Late nights. Quick words. Man knows a man. That man knows somebody. Word gets round. I learned who was solid. Who was fronting. Who disappeared. I kept it calm. Never needed a big speech. Room goes quiet. I don't raise my voice. “You good?” “Yeah.” “Good.” [Pause.] That's how power sounds. Not loud. Just certain. I told myself I was giving people what they wanted. That's the lie. You move the line, then move it again, till crossing it feels like walking home. [Quicker] One more. One more. One more. Money up. Sleep down. Mum calls. I let it ring. --- [Pre-Chorus 2 – darker, half-sung] Fear changes a room faster than money. Money gets you in. Fear keeps the door shut. [Low ghost] Door shut... --- [Chorus 2 – bigger, sharper] Every burn made me harder. Every loss made the skin thicker. Moving the line, moving the line, telling myself I was buying back time. New car. New coat. “Boss, you're good.” I believed them. --- [Bridge – stripped; low, intimate, breath-led] Then Mum got sick. I sent flowers. Sent money. Sent somebody else. She asked for me. I said tomorrow. Tomorrow became next week. Next week became... nothing. [Long breath.] She died with my name in her phone. Three months. Three months too late. [Voice cracks] All that money... couldn't buy me one more minute. --- [Verse 4 – older voice; rougher, quieter, London speech reduced] Forty-eight. Money. Name. A house too big to feel like home. People stand when I enter. Nobody stays when I sit down. Hands shake. Breath short. Doctor says, “Slow down.” [Small laugh.] Yeah. Bit late for that. Then I pass a kitchen window. Kid inside. Counting coins under a yellow light. Same fear. Same feeling there won't be enough. [Pause.] And I'm twelve again. Dad was right. Not, “Work harder.” [Low] Get out. --- [Build – whispered fragments; increasing speed] Move the line. More. One more. [Hard stop.] Enough. --- [Final Chorus – low opening, then clean higher register; controlled grit] I kept moving the line, moving the line, thinking one more win would make everything right. One more night. One more deal. One more reason not to feel. I said, “Just enough.” Like a prayer. Like a lie. Like a man with everything... still asking why. [Beat cuts.] [Lead – whisper] Enough. [High clean] Enough. [Low shadow] Enough... [Lead] I thought money was the way out. [Pause.] It was the hallway. And I kept walking. [Final hook – layered] Made of the damage. Made of the damage. [Soft ghost] Enough... --- [Outro – close mic, exhausted] Mum hid the electric bill under the fruit bowl every Friday night. I kept every receipt... except the ones that mattered. [Breath.] Funny thing about enough... you don't know... until it's gone.
